Hobbit Princess
by Naheka and Joe the Nazgul
Summary: Estella Black wants to be an Elvish princess, despite all that her admirer, Hobson Willow, offers her. But when a wish goes wrong, Estella wakes up in the Iron Mountains. Irony intended. Ugly attempt at cannon. Feedback appreciated.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings. It belongs to JRR Tolkien. Estella Black, Hobson Willow, Wilibald Gamwich, Nerin Clawshield, and Enmellon the Maiar are of my creation.  
  


* * *

  
**Author's Note (YOU WILL WANT TO READ THIS IF THE BOOK IS IMPORTANT TO YOU)**:  
I wrote this little story for an assignment in English class; I will inform you that I am begining to semi-dislike my English teacher. It was my first attempt at cannon, until... mph. _Hoom._ Well, the tale takes place near the end of the Third Age, I believe. I spent quite a long time coordinating the dates, getting proper and authentic Middle-Earth names, and hooking up places with people. Now, by my opinion, the exposition is nice and lined up as clean as it could be. However, there's this huge, enormous, atrocious dent somewhere in the middle of the text. I will identify it at the end of the story so as to not reveal the content of the plot.  
  
Thank you for enduring my bore, and_ Booraroom! _  
  
_Naheka_  
  


* * *

  
** Hobbit Princess  
or  
Periannath Turinqui  
**  
  
Hobson Willow was only asking his love, Estella Black, if there was anything he could do to make her happy. "There's nothing you can do!" Estella snapped, angrily flicking a lock of raven black hair out of her round face. Hobson, who at the moment was leaning on his dirt-covered pitchfork behind her, frowned as he  
watched her stomp off to 8 Cod Street, her hole only three holes away from the garden he was trimming. Wiping a single bead of sweat from his brow, he unsheathed his pitchfork from the earth and took to work again.  
  
"That Estella Black," sighed a passing Wilibald Gamwich, a local merchant at the town market. "Why you hang 'round her anyway? She's quite a bitter Hobbit-lass, there."  
  
"I just... do," answered Hobson honestly and neatly, pawing his boot at the overturned dirt.   
  
"Always a Samwise Gamgee, aren't you, Hobbes?"  
  
Hobson nodded his head fervently in reply. Samwise Gamgee was an infamous Hobbit who lived a quite a while away from Stock, the village Hobson was in. Sam lived in Hobbiton as the Mayor of the Shire, a rather pure and rural area in Eriador, which was a western land in Middle-earth. This was Sam's third year of election, year 1441 (by Shire Reckoning, of course) and the people of the Shire loved him dearly. However, Sam was most famous for his deeds during the Quest of the Ring of Power about three decades ago, give or take a few years.   
  
The outcome of this quest determined the very fate of Middle-earth; whether the Ring should be destroyed and Middle-earth be left to its normal progress, or whether the Ring should fall into the terrible hands of the Dark Lord, Sauron, thus dooming Middle-earth to complete evil and hatred under Sauron's ordeal. Sam was the Ring-bearer's ever-faithful servant, an admirable quality in any Hobbit Middle-earth could offer. It was he that supported the Ring-bearer all the thousand miles from Hobbiton to Mount Doom, the enormous volcano which was the only place the Ring could be destroyed... and just happened to be in Mordor... where Sauron lived.   
  
But aside from all of the dramatic and heroic tales, one could say that Hobson was Master Gamgee's biggest fan. He wanted to be just like him. Some complimented that with Hobson's dark brown curls and healthy smile, he looked a lot like Master Gamgee. Hobson wanted to garden and plant, just like Master Gamgee. Hobson wanted to be honest and faithful, just like Master Gamgee. Hobson wanted to write and sing poems, just like Master Gamgee. And... Hobson Willow wanted to start a family, just like Master Gamgee. But the only Hobbit-lass he had ever loved had her head up in the clouds and simply refused to come down.  
  
Hobson sighed. Maybe Estella Black was just grumpy today. But he did not consider the fact that if his theory was correct, then Estella Black was grumpy every day.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"I hate it here," remarked Estella to herself bitterly, tossing a dishtowel carelessly onto the polished floor, meaning that she would have to wash it later. "I despise this simple working routine," she continued. "No one ever listens to me when I preach me dreams. They just look at me like I'm some delirious Took smoking Old Toby down at _The Red Sparrow_!" Old Toby was perhaps the finest weed in the west, and _The Red Sparrow_ was the town pub. As for the Took's, they were a Hobbit family known for their taste for adventure. Estella recalled a random Hobbit-lad running around the square the other day screaming "_The Took's will infect us all!_" at the top of his lungs in a hysterical tone.  
  
Estella plopped herself down in her father's oak rocking chair in front of the empty fireplace grate. "If I were an Elf-princess of the east," she said woefully, "then I wouldn't have to be here walking this simple path." Estella closed her eyes. "My garments would be long and white, with beautiful gold hair brushing the floor.  
With a long face, milky white. And my starry eyes would glint every time I sang... Just like Elanor Gamgee."  
  
Elanor Gamgee was Samwise's first daughter. She was a Hobbit-lass known as Elanor the Fair, and in 1436, five years ago, she was appointed to be a maid of honor to Elf Queen Arwen, the fairest queen of the Third Age. But by Hobbit stats, this promotion to Elanor was like being royalty herself. She, like Master Samwise, also had many admirers.   
  
Estella shook her head and slouched in the chair. She frowned at the Tindómerel, the Nightingale outside her window. Its mournful song reminded her so much of Elves.  
  
"And I am serious," Estella continued to herself. "I want to be a princess of another land."  
  
With that, Estella lay her head down on the arm of the rocking chair, and fell asleep. But what she had not counted on was that the Tindómerel was really a shape-shifting spirit. Enmellon the Maiar chirped in pity as he hopped about the birch tree, his song turning to a lament of Estella's fanciful wish. But a sudden thought dawned on Enmellon's mind. This could be fun. Maybe he could do something to help her. And even better... he could teach her an important lesson.   
  
Oh, the possibilities.  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"Milady?... Milady?"  
  
Nerin Clawshield grunted. The lady had the tendency to ignore him when it was time for her to rise in the morning. Looking around the room, he found the lady's ax lying neatly beside her bed. Taking it up skillfully, he prodded his mistress in the shoulder with the harmless end. She growled at him before shrinking  
further into her covers. Nerin sighed. He had no choice, and he was sure that the lady wouldn't do anything too harsh to him as a consequence.  
  
"_Baruk Khazad!_" he cried, raising the ax as he pretended to attack her. "_Khazad ai-mёnu!_" This was a well-known battle-cry used by many soldiers of their kind.  
  
Estella shrieked as she hopped out of bed and began screaming hysterically, just like the Hobbit-lad in the town square.   
  
"_The Tooks will infect us all!_ --- I mean— What in Baggins' name are you doing!" the lass screeched, flustered with fear. "Father! There's a Dwarf in my room!" She whipped around, only to face a barren cave wall. "Wait! This isn't my room!" She leaped over the bed and pounced on Nerin. "Where did you take me, you foul Dwarf? Speak! Or I'll have you on stakes hanging in the old Barrow-downs!" She paused. She looked at her hands, which were on the verge of strangling Nerin's throat. Her hands were grubby and very dirty and rather thick fingered, a great contrast to the slenderer fingers she had the last time she looked at them.   
  
Her horrified gaze traveled up her arms. They were shorter and stockier. Her dark blue dress, the one she had been wearing before, was now a vest of mail. Nerin, in utter confusion, watched his mistress spring up into the air and run around frantically in circles again, screaming in the same terrified squeal. As he rose to his feet, the Dwarf scratched his head, wondering why his mistress was acting so delirious.   
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
"I've got to get out of here," thought Estella to herself, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. Actually, it was more like waddling. A Dwarf was not much taller than a Hobbit, but with all of these Dwarvish garments laid upon her shoulders and chest, Estella was surprised she had not toppled over. Nerin watched her  
uneasily, still puzzled of his lady's actions.  
  
"Lady Skyfist," he announced worriedly. "May I inquire, are you feeling alright?"  
  
"Lady Skyfist?" questioned Estella. "Lady Skyfist? Who's that?"  
  
"You are, milady!" the Dwarf replied. "You are the Princess of the Iron Mountains! You have not forgotten, have you?"  
  
"I... wait. What?" Estella stopped pacing and faced Nerin. "What did you say I was?"  
  
"Princess of the Iron Mountains, of course!"  
  
"P-p-princess?"  
  
She had done it. Now Estella began to recall her last words before she had closed her eyes in the rocking chair back in Stock. She had recited her dream to herself... and probably wished that she would be a princess! But it seemed odd. She had wished so many times by herself and in front of people, yet the dream never came true until now. Had she wished so many times that it was finally granted? Maybe it was something that she had eaten.   
  
Estella fell into complete silence, her gaze eventually traveling off of Nerin's baffled expression. As he noticed her eyes start to glaze with absence of reality, he was prepared to prod her with the ax again until she blinked and shouted, "The Tindómerel! That's it! The Tindómerel! I can specify my wish to it!"  
  
"Tindó—" began the Dwarf-servant until Estella interrupted him.  
  
"You! What's your name?" she barked immediately.  
  
"Nerin Clawshield, milady." The explanation that Princess Skyfist had amnesia came into possibility.  
  
"Nerin! I need to find a Tindómerel!"  
  
Nerin chortled. "Lady Skyfist, you know you could not find a nightingale here under the Iron Mountains! It's as ridiculous as Vryr the Blind finding a speck of ruby in a pebble of limestone!"  
  
Estella hadn't much knowledge of who Vryr the Blind was, but she pushed that ignorance aside. There went her hopes of turning out right. Without a Tindómerel, she wouldn't have the chance of becoming an Elvish princess. But then another thought dawned on her mind. Dwarves had magic powers too, did they not? They had the magical powers to seal the West Gates of Moría. There could be other possibilities...  
  
"What is your strongest magic?" Estella blurted out immediately.   
  
"Erm..." Nerin paused in thought. "Well, we have something strong to make a whole entire cave wall explode in a mass of fireworks, I believe."  
  
"No, that won't do..." Estella rubbed her left temple. "Well... do you have anything that can change... me?"  
  
"Milady, I'm not too clear on that."  
  
"Nerin, I'm a Hobbit, not a Dwarf. And don't call me 'Milady'. My name is Estella Black." She groaned at Nerin's reaction. "You don't need to raise eyebrows. You've been doing that all morning."  
  
"You're a Hobbit?" said Nerin. "A Halfling? You could not be."  
  
It was obvious that the Dwarf Advisor was not going to believe her if Estella tried to explain. He would probably accuse her of being delirious out loud.   
  
"Okay," she countered, starting to get impatient. "Then I have a request." She turned her back on him, facing the cave wall of the room. "I wish to be an Elf."  
  
"An Elf?" Nerin stumbled with his words. "Great Aulё! Why would you want that?"  
  
"Don't ask questions! Just tell me if you have a solution to my problem!"  
  
"Well," Nerin looked cautiously down at his feet. "There is a Maiar who lives deep, deep, deep under the mountain." He paused and looked to Estella for approval. "You do know that a Maiar is rather powerful—"  
  
"Yes, yes. Gandalf the Grey was a Maiar. Brought a lot of trouble to us in the Shire, but he's a great one. Continue."  
  
"So..." Nerin crossed his arms. "If you find him, he could help you."  
  
Estella inhaled a deep breath. "Where can I find him?"  
  
"It's many a days and nights journey under the mountain. But if it pleases you, I will lead you down there."  
  
"...Take me to him."  
  
  
** ~*~**  
  
  
The journey under the mountain was as comfortable as any journey with a Dwarf could get. Nerin led the way, as Estella hurried closely behind him. After passing through the furling banners of smoke rising from the miners lair, they had entered a massive labyrinth of darkness and rocks. But Nerin seemed to know the way,  
walking down and down, deeper under the mountain with Estella in tow. Nerin was right. It was a long travel, even if there was a guide who knew the way.  
  
"This is his door," came the Dwarf's voice early in the morning. Of course, it was very difficult to tell the time, as it always seemed to be night under the Iron Mountains. Estella had not taken a wink of sleep for almost two days straight now. All of this toil, just for a finer life. This nightmare would be over soon.   
  
Nerin was pointing to a massive stone wall, intricately carved with curled designs and fancy patterns. Near the bottom were two stone gaps, like grooves that you could use to open the doors. There was also a stone knocker right next to it.   
  
Estella took no hesitation in slamming the knocker roughly against the door. _Doom! Doom!_ went the knocker. She waited, listening to the echos of the knocker ring throughout the empty underground. Nothing happened. She knocked again. _Doom! Doom!_ Nothing happened. Nerin backed away as Estella was about to  
yank the doors open herself, until—  
  
_ Bang!_  
  
In a flash of light and fire, and in a swift tug, Estella was yanked right behind the doorway, out of Nerin's sight. The last thing she saw was Nerin's horrified face, and the light of his lantern going out completely. The stone doors shut in her face.   
  
Estella had shut her eyes in the whir of sounds behind her. She felt like she was being blown around like a dead leaf in the autumn wind. Around her, she heard whispers. Thousands of whispers. "I am Enmellon," it said mysteriously, the tone echoing like the knocker. "I can grant thy wish... Prove thyself to me... Thou hast  
come too close... Thou hast disturbed my slumber.... What be thy request?... Speak to me... Speak... Speak now!"  
  
"An Elf princess of the East!" cried Estella finally, the drama of this ethereal contact putting too much pressure on her.  
  
"...Let thy worth be thy fate..."  
  
There was a sucking force coming from below her feet, and then Estella knew no more.  
  
  
**~*~**  
  
  
Hobson Willow was only asking his love, Estella Black if there was anything he could do to make her happy. "You could fetch me some tea, if you don't mind," Estella murmured softly, smiling as she patted Hobson on the head. Hobson smiled sweetly as he paced calmly toward the kettle, and poured some tea into a blue china cup. "Always a Samwise Gamgee, aren't we?" she complimented, slowly taking a sip once Hobson had handed her the cup.   
  
"Honest as I can be, milady," Hobson replied. Estella put her tea down and suddenly glared at him.  
  
"Don't call me that," she snapped. Pausing to look at his confused gaze, she let out an exasperated sigh.  
  
But before she rose to her feet and left the Willow hole, she gave a short peck on the cheek to him, glancing for only a millisecond at the cherry blush that spread across his face. Just before she left, he replied:  
  
"Never an Elanor Gamgee."  
  
  


* * *

  
The part concerning Dwarves was absolutely terrible by fact status, wasn't it? Sadly, I had to bend the rules quite a bit. My intentions was to do this cannon style, but that idea was messily overturned... Here are questions/statements that many of you may ask in your feedback (if any), and a reply I have for them:  
  
1. If it's near the end of the Third Age, then there might be more Elf-princesses in the West, right?  
_ Exactly. But Estella fancies Elf Realms that were thriving in the earlier era of the Third Age._  
2. If Estella turned into a Dwarf, then shouldn't she have a beard also? After the releasement of _The Two Towers_ film, it is near inevitable that every LOTR fanatic knows about the appearance of Dwarf-women.  
_ My English teacher wouldn't understand it, and I fear her taking off points for her confusion._  
3. Princess of the Iron Mountains?  
_ Ridiculous, isn't it? Alas, tis what I had to conjour in order for this story to approve for the assignment._  
4. The Maiar living under the Mountain seems somewhat far-fetched.  
_ The knowledge of that opinion haunts me so.  
_5. The random delirious Hobbit screaming, "The Tooks will infect us all" confused me.  
_ Like question number four, that random Hobbit haunts me also... They're all out to get me. (rocks back and forth in denial)  
  
_  
Feedback appreciated. I've been waiting for perhaps over a month for this assignment to come back to me. Darn my English teacher.  



End file.
